Miles to Go
by Harkpad
Summary: After the Chitauri, SHIELD and the Avengers try to find a rhythm in dealing with threats. Clint is assigned to both groups and finds himself getting pulled for a lot of missions. Bruce Banner is trying to learn how to make friends in this new life of his. He sees Clint wearing down before his eyes and knows that part of being a friend is having their back. Heed warnings.
1. Chapter 1

**So here are my WARNINGS: Please HEED**: This is Supposed to just be a friendship fic. However, if you put slash goggles on you might see some pre-slash with Bruce and Clint. NOTHING happens here, though. Or you could see two people struggling to come to terms with new people in their lives and making friends. There IS mention of past Clint/Coulson, but only in polite conversation. No slash is shown (wait. Bruce holds Clint's hand in medical at one point.) Clint swears a lot. Finally, there is slight self-harm in the sense of neglecting one's health for self-esteem reasons. As for categories, since only lets you choose two, you can add the hurt/comfort category to the angst and friendship one. If you think I've not warned properly, please send me a PM rather than a review. I will change things right away if necessary because I do respect readers! Thanks for reading!

**Miles to Go**

"He spends a lot of time on the archery range, huh?" Tony asked around a bite of cherry Danish. He and Bruce were standing on the viewing deck watching Clint practice.

"We spend a lot of time in the lab, Tony," Bruce replied, keeping his gaze on Clint.

"Yeah, but you're socially awkward and I actually hate most peop—Oh." Tony cut himself off and looked at Bruce with a sheepish grin. "More in common with Legolas than I thought. That's cool."

They stood quietly for a few minutes watching Clint's feats with the bow, and then Tony clapped his hands together. "Coffee break's over." Then he pressed a button on the wall and leaned over to the speaker. "Nice shootin', ace!" he called through it. He waved as Clint turned and looked up at them, flipped Tony off, and went back to practicing.

Tony headed down the hall and looked over his shoulder at Bruce, who was still standing there drinking his tea.

"My figures are more interesting than Barton's ass! Come on!" Tony called back to him.

Bruce chuckled and turned, throwing one last glance down at Clint (and seriously doubting Tony's claim about his figures). He followed anyway, leaving Hawkeye where he seemed to feel most comfortable – alone.

That night, Bruce did his second favorite thing and cooked a huge dinner for everyone. Two weeks after the Chitauri incident, all of them minus Thor had ended up spending most of their time at what was being dubbed Avengers Tower. Tony provided full furnished apartments for each of them so they could have their own space, and three weeks after they were all moved in, a team dinner in the common kitchen every few nights was normal.

Clint hardly spoke at all the first three weeks after the Invasion; he just moved his stuff into the Tower and hung around quietly. He'd finally started socializing a little lately, though, and always seemed to be around the common room whenever Bruce was there.

Bruce didn't know a lot about making friends anymore, but he did like to cook, and that drew people in. He'd traded cooking and his medical knowledge for shelter many times before ending up here. Tonight he was pushing his own boundaries and making Italian food.

"Clint, can you pull the bread out of that oven?" Bruce asked as he chopped up some olives for the salad. Clint usually came down to the kitchen early, offering to help. They didn't always talk a lot, but Clint was a good cook and he was good for an occasional 'In the circus they'd cook this dish this way,' story, which often evolved into a story about some crazy-stupid thing Clint did in the circus as a kid.

He'd always finish with a laugh and a "God, I was such a stupid little shit." Bruce would just chuckle and give him something else to do, hoping to coax another story out of him. Bruce realized that growing up in the circus must have been crap a lot of the time, but the stories were outstanding.

Tonight Clint was quiet. They finished laying the food out just as Natasha and Steve emerged from the elevator, freshly showered after sparring together.

"Who got their ass handed to them this afternoon?" Clint asked, elbowing Steve, who shrugged and shook his head ruefully.

"She's really quick," he said sheepishly.

Bruce grinned as Clint made Natasha give him a high five, and the four of them filled their plates, knowing better than to wait for Tony, who would probably wander in later.

"The Reds are playing the Pirates tonight," Natasha told them, and Steve proceeded to put the game on the big TV in the adjoining common room. Everyone settled into a spot and Bruce ate in silence, laughing occasionally at the various 'since when is that rule around?' and 'why the heck would they do that?' comments from Steve.

He watched as Clint finished his food and then disappeared into the kitchen again, and he followed him after a few minutes. He found Clint washing dishes.

"You okay?" he asked, picking up a towel and drying the pile Clint had started.

Clint looked at him and shrugged, digging at a particularly sticky spot on a pan. "SHIELD's got me going out on an op tomorrow. I need to turn in early tonight."

Bruce noticed the deflection of his question. "You don't have to do the dishes, you know. I'll rope Steve into it later."

"Nah," Clint said with a grin. "Nat's got a bet going with him on the game and I'm not _really_ in a hurry to get to bed."

"Is this your first op with SHIELD since the Chitauri? I didn't know you'd be splitting your time," Bruce asked, curious.

Clint nodded. "Yeah, it's my first one back. Psych cleared me a couple weeks ago and this one needs my particular skill set, so I'll help them out. Besides, Avengers stuff has been quiet lately."

"How did Steve feel about you dividing time?" Bruce asked, considering what Steve would do if something _did_ come up with the Avengers and he didn't have Hawkeye up high.

Clint looked at him sharply and then relaxed a bit. "You guys'll be fine without me if it comes up. Cap knows that."

"Hmmf," Bruce said, noncommittally. They worked on the kitchen mess quietly until it was down to Clint wiping off countertops. Bruce leaned back against the refrigerator. "How long will you be gone?" he asked.

Clint shrugged. "Not sure. Scheduled op time is a week, but there are some variables we have to account for once we get on site, so it might be more or it might be less."

Bruce nodded. Then he decided 'what the hell;' he wanted to be friends with these people, even if he was out of practice, and friends tried to help, even when it was awkward. "Are you nervous about working for SHIELD on an op again?" he asked.

Clint didn't answer right away, deliberately rinsing off the dishrag and hanging it on its hook. He wiped his hands on a towel and then looked up. "A little. I guess." He sighed and then ran a hand down his face. "It'll be the first op without Coulson in a really long time. That'll be hard. Plus it'll be the first time they have to trust me again. Hard for them, I'll bet."

Bruce nodded. "But Fury trusts you, and they'll follow his lead." He paused. "I know it's hard without Agent Coulson around. You worked with him exclusively?"

Clint nodded. "Almost. For about four years. He trained me, too, brought me into SHIELD a couple years before that. It'll be weird," he said.

"You'll do okay, though. I doubt you mess up on missions, huh?" Bruce said.

Clint smiled. "Once or twice. But as long as there's no mythical god with a spear involved, I think I can handle pretty much anything." He shoved himself away from the counter and clapped Bruce on the shoulder. "Catch you later, Bruce. You'll have to manage a few days without a sous chef."

"Be safe, Clint," he replied, and Barton left the room with a wave.

It was a week and a half before Clint came back to the Tower. The Avengers had not been called out, but when Steve saw Clint limp off of the elevator with a butterfly bandage on his forehead and his arm in a sling, Bruce could see anger at SHIELD simmer up on Steve's face. They needed Hawkeye to be mission-ready, and it didn't appear that he was.

Tony, who was standing at the bar having a 'casual lunch' with Pepper over some Stark Industry business and a vodka tonic, saw Clint and called out, "Geez, hope the bad guys look worse than you, Legolas!"

Clint just shrugged and stopped at the table where Steve was drawing and Bruce was reading a journal. "Captain," he said in a tight voice. "Just wanted to let you know that if we're called out I'll be okay. I did mess up my shoulder a little, but I can work around it."

Steve nodded and stood, a worried look in his eyes. "Okay. If you're sure. Hopefully we won't get called out, though. What about that limp?"

Clint stood a little straighter, as if putting weight on it to demonstrate his readiness. "It's just a sprain. It'll be okay."

Bruce set his journal down and pulled his glasses off. "Are you up for cooking tonight?" he asked, hoping to have his company back.

Clint looked at him and Bruce saw exhaustion in his eyes. "Probably not tonight, Doc. Kinda need to crash for a while."

Bruce nodded and Steve sat back down, saying, "Get some rest. We'll talk again in the morning."

Clint looked at the floor and then back at Steve. "They might have mentioned another mission coming up in a week or so." He paused and then straightened his shoulders. "I'll be okay to do it."

Steve just gave him a nod, and Clint just turned and headed back to the elevator.

"See you tomorrow," Bruce called, and Clint gave him a tired grin and nodded.

Nobody saw Clint the next day, though. When he didn't come around for dinner, Natasha told Bruce and Steve that he had post-mission debriefs all day and was still pretty worn out. There was no team dinner for a few more days, but Bruce finally caught Clint at the shooting range one afternoon.

"Should you be doing that?" Bruce called from the observation balcony after watching Clint wince his way through a practice round.

Clint looked up and shrugged as he wiped his face with a towel. "I have to do a few reps each day just in case we get called out," he called back.

"You about done?" Bruce asked.

"About," Clint replied. "What did you need?"

"Some sanity, if you're available. I've been in the lab with Tony for three days and could use a break."

"Okay," Clint called with a grin. "Give me fifteen minutes."

"Come by my apartment?" Bruce asked, and Clint nodded before going back to his routine.

Bruce headed back to his apartment a few floors up and started to brew some tea. When Clint knocked on the door fifteen minutes later, he was wearing the sling again and still limping, but he looked more rested than he'd been a few days ago.

"Come on in," Bruce said, gesturing inside. "Do you like tea?"

Clint stopped for a moment as if caught off guard, but then said, "Yeah. Thanks."

"Do you put anything in it? It's a black tea," Bruce added. These are things people have to learn about each other.

"No, thanks."

Bruce nodded and prepared the tea. He saw Clint looking around his living room, a large, open space with only a few pieces of furniture. He had a small suede couch, two matching arm chairs, and a coffee table made of dark mahogany. In the far corner was a tall mahogany bookshelf, and Clint was standing there looking through Bruce's books when he brought the tea tray in and set it on the coffee table.

"You have a tea service," Clint said, raising an eyebrow as he sat down in one of the arm chairs.

"Rituals are calming," Bruce replied with a shrug, offering Clint a cup. It was accepted with a solemn nod. The two men sat in silence, drinking tea and listening to the combination of background instrumental music and a trickling fountain that sat in the middle of the coffee table.

"This place is relaxing," Clint said, quietly, after a few minutes.

Bruce simply nodded, figuring that Clint understood the need for a place like this. "Do you play chess?" he asked after a moment.

He saw Clint's eyes widen a fraction and then the archer set his teacup awkwardly on the table and stood, striding over to the bookshelves again, holding his bad shoulder with his good arm. Bruce was surprised, and when he saw Clint run a hand over his face he asked, "Clint? Are you okay?" with worry coloring his voice.

Clint turned and looked at Bruce with a sigh, puffing his cheeks when he did it. He stared at Bruce intently for a moment and then sat back down and picked up his teacup. "Yeah, do you want to play? I know how."

Bruce cocked his head and held Clint's gaze, but the archer clearly wasn't going to explain anything. Bruce really didn't mind; he was used to taking what he could get from people, even if he wasn't used to wanting to so often. "Okay, let's play. It's the opposite of hanging out with Tony and I could use that right now."

Clint chuckled and sipped his tea while Bruce pulled out his weathered oak chess set. They slipped easily into a game and after about half an hour Bruce brought out more tea. "Do you want something else?" he asked as he set the fresh pot on the table. "I think I have a six pack of something in the fridge if you'd rather that."

"No, thanks. This is good tea."

Clint almost beat him the first game, but Bruce beat him pretty quickly the second.

"Genius scientist, genius chess player…" Clint lamented as Bruce put the game away with a smile.

"Well, I don't know about _genius_ scientist," he said, and Clint laughed. "Besides, you're not bad at chess yourself," he added.

"Coulson and Natasha taught me. He was impossible to beat, and she's hard to beat," Clint said with a smile. "You should play her sometime. I'd like to watch that one."

"Sure," Bruce said as Clint stretched his back and then stood.

"I'm gonna bail on ya tonight, Doc. Thanks for the tea and game, though."

Bruce stood, too, and they walked to the door. "Thanks for helping me quiet the Stark-chatter in my head for a while." Clint grinned and headed out the door with a wave, which Bruce now associated with him and exits. Friends recognized patterns of behavior. This was good, definitely a step in the right direction.

Two days and three chess games later, the Avengers got called to assemble.

It was a quick but dirty fight, a HYDRA cell right there in New York that needed to be taken down hard. It was also the first time Bruce had volunteered the Hulk's services for SHIELD. He was nervous as they headed to the site, but as the car slowed to its destination, Clint elbowed his shoulder gently and said, "You can do this." Bruce just nodded, and felt a thrill about the fact that he had people who trusted him this much. A terrifying thrill, but it was something.

As it turned out, the Hulk was something, too. Bruce awoke a few hours later in the holding cell they'd designed at Avengers' Tower for him, with a set of clothes laid out on a cot. There was also, to Bruce's amusement, a travel mug of steaming tea sitting just inside the door. _Friends_, he thought as he pulled on the t-shirt, jeans, and flannel and picked up the mug of tea, _might be worth the trouble_.

He let himself out of the cell and made his way to the common room on the top floor, and when he stepped out of the elevator, he saw Steve and Tony sitting at the dining table with what looked like mugs of hot chocolate. He glanced around the room and saw Natasha sitting on the couch with Clint's head in her lap; he was sprawled across the cushions and had an ice pack wrapped against his shoulder and Natasha was pressing another one to his head.

"Is everyone okay?" he asked, looking at Clint, who opened his eyes and offered a tired wave.

"We're okay, Doc," Clint said, but his voice was slurred, and Bruce looked questioningly at Natasha.

"Very mild concussion," she confirmed, brushing one hand through Clint's hair. "Mostly exhaustion, I think."

"The shoulder?" Bruce asked, pointing at the ice pack.

"Hurts like hell," Clint replied, "But it's okay. SHIELD PT guys are good."

Steve stood from the table and said, "Bruce is back and we need to do a quick debrief, so let's do it before Clint falls asleep again."

"Hey, 'm not sleeping," Clint said, sitting up quickly. Too quickly, as it turned out. A sharp intake of breath and a quiet "whoa" with clenched eyes had Natasha steadying Clint's shoulder and holding him upright. Grasping at his shoulder, Clint said, practically growling, "Why the hell can't Coulson wait until tomorrow for a debrief?"

Natasha went still and Tony looked sharply over at them from the table. Bruce saw Clint realize his mistake right away and then dropped his head and said, "Fuck" and then looked up at Natasha. "Sorry, Nat," he said, softly, "I'm just tired."

She nodded and helped him stand with a simple, "It's okay," and they left it at that.

Bruce saw the sadness in her eyes and weariness in his, though, and wondered again what Coulson had been to these two people who were both so clearly guarded with their companionship.

They all gathered at the table and Tony pushed a button so that a screen rose in front of them and Jasper Sitwell, the Avengers' liaison with SHIELD, appeared, looking just as tired as everyone else felt. He asked a few pointed questions about locations and number of hits and basic statistic information, and then gave his own report.

"The HYDRA cell was neutralized, and thanks to the Hulk there's nothing usable left in the building," he said after giving a basic summary. "We need to work on exit strategy when the Hulk is involved," he said, clearly looking at Clint, "but overall it was a successful mission."

"Exit strategy was fine," Clint insisted, drawing himself up out of a slump. "I was just a little slow on my feet."

Steve looked at Clint, "If you hadn't been on that other –" he started.

But Clint cut him off with a glare and then a quick, "It was my fault and I'll do better next time, Sitwell."

Bruce looked up at the screen to see Sitwell scowling.

"Okay," Sitwell said darkly. "That's the only strategy work for this particular mission. Exit strategies when the Big Guy is on the move. I expect each of you to have the standard report on my desk in two days. You too, Stark." Tony just shrugged and took a drink of his hot chocolate that Bruce thought smelled distinctly like peppermint schnapps.

Sitwell was about to sign off, but then leaned over and added, "Barton. You're expected at HQ in my office at 0730 tomorrow. Got it?"

Everyone looked at Clint, who only nodded tiredly and said, "Yes, sir."

Sitwell signed off and Tony turned off the screen in front of them as Bruce looked at Clint and said, "Exit strategy?"

Clint shrugged. "Yeah, I was on the building when Hulk tore it apart. I should've been quicker getting off." He tapped his head, "Got a smack on the head for it."

Bruce leaned back, frowning, and Steve said, "Not your fault, Banner. I saw the whole thing."

"Yeah," Clint said, trying to reassure him. "Really, Bruce, if I'd been at normal speed it wouldn't have been a problem. And besides," he said, standing from the table, "It wasn't much of a problem anyway. I'm okay. But I've apparently got a meeting at too-fucking-early in the morning tomorrow, so I'm cutting out. See ya, team."

They watched as he disappeared into the elevator, and then Steve said, "He needs some downtime."

"Does he usually get more missions than you, Natasha?" Bruce asked.

"He gets a different type of mission when he's not working with me. Mine are more long term. Plus it's going to be harder for me to do a lot of SHIELD missions now that my profile is familiar. His work requires stealth, mine requires infiltration. They're still figuring out how to use me now that my face is known." She shrugged. "They'll figure something out, but for the moment, he's easier to use."

"To use up, if they're not careful," Tony said, finishing his drink and heading back to the bar.

Bruce stood and stretched and said good night to everyone. Letting the Hulk out on purpose had been new, thinking of the Hulk working with a team and affecting other good people with his actions was challenging, and Bruce needed some downtime of his own. He put on some soft music and hoped that Clint was somewhere in the tower sleeping off some of his exhaustion.

He resolved that if the Hulk was going to be part of a team on missions, it would be Bruce's goal to look after the team a bit in their off hours. It was the least he could do after causing concussions and other mayhem. So he woke up early enough to leave a mug of tea on Clint's car before the archer left for his meeting, hoping little things like that could help. It's what friends did, if he remembered correctly.

**TBC**

**A/N: So this is a two or three part story - probably three. It's all written, so hopefully it won't be long before it's all up here. Thanks to dysprositos for her typical beta brilliance. If you all have not read her stories, you should. I'm trying to take Bruce Banner lessons from her, but she's much better at him than I am. If you've not read "This is a story about a cat" you're missing out, or "Four Days" is also brilliant. Of course, I am a little bit biased. . .**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey, thanks for the kind response to the first chapter! The same warnings apply here (no slash unless you're looking real hard, with the exception of mention of past Clint/Coulson, self harm through neglect). Thanks again to dysprositos! **

Bruce went into the lab with Tony after breakfast that morning, and it was almost eleven that night before he came out, amazed again by how easy it was to lose time there. He hadn't had this much fun working in years, and he felt like he was getting somewhere, finally, now that he had Tony to bounce ideas off of. He was pleased.

The next morning he had to go to SHIELD, though, and run through a few things with their scientists. It was part of the contract he insisted on with Fury after the Chitauri incident. Bruce didn't want his protection to be on a whim; he demanded terms and paperwork. In exchange, he said he would share some of his research with SHIELD and help them with a few outstanding projects. He might have made his demands only_ after_ he realized that Tony, Steve, Clint, Natasha and Thor would probably protect him if SHIELD put up much of a fight, but he _did_ demand. Fury complied with a contract, complete with pay scale and benefits.

So now he was on SHIELD's payroll and knew what they could and couldn't ask him for. There were boundaries and responsibilities on both sides.

He headed down to his car after a light breakfast, and promptly ran into Clint and Natasha in the parking garage.

"Good morning, Bruce," Natasha said as he stepped off the elevator and found them keying into Clint's Honda.

"Are you heading to SHIELD?" Clint asked, leaning against his open door. He was wearing jeans and a SHIELD issue hooded sweatshirt, his hair was disheveled, and he already had his sunglasses on.

"Yeah, I've got some meetings with their research division this morning," Bruce answered, approaching their car. He looked at Clint's forest green Civic and noted its immaculate condition and shine.

"Do you want to ride with us?" Natasha asked. "We'll only be over there part of the day. We can give you a ride back when you're done, if you want."

"Carpooling, it saves resources," Clint deadpanned with a grin. "Come on, Doc. Ride with us. You'll get there faster."

Bruce shrugged and said, "Okay, sure. Thanks."

When Clint started the car the radio blared so loud that Bruce jumped and Natasha flipped the volume down with a snarled "Jesus, Clint. You're going to make yourself deaf."

Clint just chuckled. "Can't play The Pixies too loud in the morning, Tash," and he turned it back up just a little. They rode out of the parking garage to "Wave of Mutilation," and Bruce tried very hard not to analyze that too much.

A few hours later, he wrapped up his meeting with the research team, gathered his files, stopped at the mess hall for a bagel and bottle of cranberry juice, and headed to the SHIELD lobby, where he had told Clint and Natasha he'd wait on them. He had plenty of reading to do from his meetings and settled in for the long haul.

He had been there about an hour when he felt someone drop heavily onto the couch next to him. It was Clint.

"Hey," he said, and then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Hey, Clint," Bruce said, and then realized that Clint wasn't even going to try and make small talk, and after a minute he heard Clint's breathing even out and realized the archer was dozing. With a grin, Bruce went back to his reading while they waited for Natasha.

When Natasha kicked Clint's shoe and he started awake, Bruce gathered his files into his leather bag and stood up with a stretch.

"You been here long, Doc?" Natasha asked as she offered Clint a hand to stand. He was still wearing the sling most of the time, and this time he didn't get his sunglasses on quick enough for Bruce to miss the dark circles under his eyes.

"A little more than an hour. I had plenty to do, though," Bruce replied, and the three of them exited into the bright sunny afternoon and headed for Clint's car. As they approached, Clint dug his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Natasha.

"You drive, Tash," he called, and she stopped and glared at him for a moment and then shrugged.

"Sure, but Banner gets to ride shotgun. He's more interesting than you right now."

Clint just waved her off and climbed into the back seat, so Bruce threw his satchel in the back and then climbed into the front seat. He watched as Natasha adjusted the mirrors and threw a glance back at Clint, who had already buckled in and leaned his head tiredly against the side window.

"He's a barrel of fun these days," Natasha said to Bruce as she started the car.

"He's good for a chess game now and then," Bruce said with a smile, glancing sideways at Natasha. "He said I should play you."

She smiled. "You probably should."

They talked a little strategy and then he asked what else she did when she wasn't training or working.

"I used to help Clint cook sometimes, but I wasn't very good at it." She paused and Bruce saw her check to see if Clint was paying any attention from the back, but he was still slumped against the window. "More often than not Coulson and I would work puzzles while Clint cooked. You know, those really intricate ones?"

Bruce nodded and looked over at her, realizing she was sharing something very valuable with him, and he felt the weight of that.

"We worked well together," she said softly, and Bruce wasn't sure she was talking about the puzzles.

"Clint said it would be hard not working with Coulson on his last op. You three were close," Bruce said, trying to leave the conversation open for her to take it where she needed.

She nodded and looked over at Bruce for a moment before returning them to the road. "Yes." After a moment she added, "The team is helping, though. We all work well together, too."

They pulled back into the Stark Tower parking garage and Natasha and Bruce climbed out of the car. It wasn't until they were out that they realized that Clint was sound asleep in the back seat. Natasha gave Bruce a wicked grin and she opened Clint's door without warning, startling him awake and nearly causing him to crash onto the pavement. "Go take a nap, Barton," she suggested, and he flipped her off as he steadied himself and climbed out of the car.

Of course, as soon as they entered the elevator, JARVIS spoke up.

"Agents Romanov and Barton, Captain Rogers has asked me to direct you to the Avengers conference room upon your arrival back at the tower."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and Clint groaned, "Why, JARVIS?"

"For a strategy meeting for a classified Avengers mission commencing in thirty-six hours, sir. Your presence is required for preliminary strategy, to be followed by a full team session at 0800 tomorrow morning."

Bruce shook his head and Natasha looked worriedly at Clint, who simply pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.

The elevator pulled to a halt.

"I'm stopping by the kitchen for a huge cup of coffee. Steve can wait ten fucking minutes," Clint said, and stepped off the elevator without looking back.

Bruce looked at Natasha and said, "I'll have some dinner ready when you guys are done, okay?" She nodded, following Clint.

Bruce managed a simple chicken and vegetable curry and a bastardized version of Naan bread he'd come up with himself. He set it all to keep warm and then checked in with Tony, but he had been dragged to a meeting with Pepper, so Bruce just sat with his research from SHIELD until the others were ready to eat.

They ate in relative silence for a bit, but then Clint leaned forward with a grin and started in on a circus story.

"You know we had to do mostly open-fire cooking when we were on the road and didn't have enough cash for fast food or wanted a break," he started with a soft smile. "I learned pretty early that the cooking some of the veteran carnies did was fifty times better than what you could get in a town. There was this one fortune teller we had for a while, Mistress Sanja, she went by." He paused and took another bite of curry.

"Her real name was Madhavi if I remember right. Anyway, she could cook. And you know, curry and this kind of food are pretty good for open fire cooking. So she made this dish one time," and here Clint chuckled, "She dared the strongman to eat it. And he's such a badass, and eats whatever you put in front of him, but she'd managed to find some authentic spices somewhere along the route and she loaded this dish with it. And you know, Bruce, spicy Indian food? It's deadly if you're not used to it." Bruce nodded and grinned, remembering his own first experience with authentic Indian cuisine.

Clint went on after taking a swig of his iced tea. "Yeah, so of course the guy took her bet – she was bold, man. She bet a week's salary, which is huge when you live hand-to-mouth."

Bruce cocked his head and realized that with Tony gone to a meeting, every single person at the table knew exactly what Clint meant.

"Yeah, so he took the bet." Clint started to laugh. "Started shoveling this stuff in without even stopping to taste it. Ate a few real good bites."

Bruce was laughing by now, too – he could see the punch line coming.

"So his taste buds finally register and oh Jesus, there must have been fifteen people gathered around for this bet, and the strongman," and now Clint shoves his chair back from the table because he's laughing so hard, "The strongman starts crying! Fucking tears and spitting the food out and flailing and," Clint sucks in a breath, "There's little Mistress Sanja sitting over there eating like it's fucking Jello pudding or something. She was gorgeous," Clint added, grinning at Natasha. "She was beautiful and she was eating calmly and grinning from ear to ear. She got an extra week's salary out of his uncultured ass and she knew she would. It was awesome." He sucked in a couple of good breaths and added, "I love curry."

Bruce and Steve laughed, and Natasha looked at him and shook her head. Steve went on to share an Army story and Bruce told one or two of his own and they all stayed around the table a lot longer than Bruce thought they would.

Finally, they cleared the table and Steve and Natasha volunteered to clean up.

"Go sleep, Clint," she told Clint as he and Bruce watched them start to clean up. She looked over at Bruce, her cheeks still red from laughing, and nodded toward Clint. "See him to his room, will you? Otherwise he'll get distracted by arrows or something shiny and not sleep."

"Yeah, sure," Bruce replied, and he tugged at Clint's elbow. "Come on, story time's over."

Clint gave him a curious look and then sighed and followed him, waving at Natasha and Steve.

They climbed on the elevator, but when it got to Clint's floor, he leaned over and pressed the 'open door' button so they wouldn't close on him. "Can I ask a favor?" he said, looking doubtfully at Bruce

"Sure," Bruce replied, curious.

Clint ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Listen, can I crash on your couch tonight? Your apartment's really, really relaxing and I'm kinda wound up. I need some sleep, though, and I figure between that fountain of yours and the general mellow tone of your place I might get to sleep faster than at mine. I kind of – well - if you don't mind."

Bruce was surprised. This was definitely something friends did, ask for favors like a place to crash, and it caught him off guard for a moment. He regrouped, though, and said, "Sure. That's fine with me. If you think it'll help."

Clint nodded and looked really relieved. "Thanks. Um – do you want to just stop by my place with me while I change real quick? I have a good beer you can try if you want – a nightcap."

It felt remarkably easy to say yes to the question.

Bruce followed Clint to his apartment and looked around when they went in. The layout was similar to Bruce's place, but not identical. There was short hallway from the entrance that opened up into a family room type of place with a plush light blue couch with yellow throw pillows, matching chairs, and a steel framed coffee table in front of the couch. There was a large screen television mounted on the wall, and an oak bookcase in the far corner. To the right of that room was a small dining area and then Clint's kitchen, and Bruce smiled at the state-of-the-art appliances on the counter and a full cooking pan rack hanging from the ceiling.

Clint headed for the kitchen and pulled a couple beers from his fridge, opened them, and handed one to Bruce. "Wait here for a minute? I'm just gonna throw on some sweatpants before I commandeer your couch."

Bruce nodded and watched him disappear down another hall and into a bedroom. Bruce wandered over to the bookshelf. He browsed through Clint's shelves, finding a whole section on archery and weaponry history, and a shelf full of classic mysteries, one filled with courtroom novels and true crime, and then a shelf at the bottom with a collection of Shakespeare, a collection of Hemingway, and a collection of Salinger. Bruce chuckled at Clint's eclectic taste.

He sat down on the couch to wait and leaned over to set his beer bottle down on the end table next to the couch. And he was startled. Because sitting there next to the tiffany lamp was a framed picture of Clint, Natasha, and Phil Coulson, their arms thrown around each other's shoulders and huge grins on their faces. They were dressed up, both men in flashy suits and Natasha in a stunning red dress; they were clearly having a fabulous time together.

Bruce was still looking at it as Clint emerged from the bedroom.

"That's my favorite shot of us," Clint said, standing behind the couch.

Bruce gripped his drink and stood, looking back at Clint, trying to get a read on the situation here. He didn't seem upset, though, and had a small smile on his face, his green eyes warm.

"You guys look good together," Bruce observed.

"Yeah, we thought so," Clint replied. He cast another glance at the photo and then grinned at Bruce. "I didn't have many photos of . . .before. That one, though, I always kept it close by." Then he sighed. "Still okay if I crash at your place? I just don't think mine's gonna work tonight."

Bruce nodded and moved toward the door. "Sure, come on."

They headed back to Bruce's apartment, and once Clint lay down on the couch, accepted the thick blanket Bruce draped over him, and settled in listening to the ripple of the fountain water, he was asleep in time it took Bruce to change clothes and come out and check on him.

They were up early the next morning, and after Clint thanked him and headed back to his own apartment to shower, Bruce got ready for the Avengers meeting.

They spent the day planning an out of the way raid on an AIM laboratory and then left at about three in the morning the following day. The plan was a good one and Bruce sat out observing, waiting until he was ordered in by Steve.

He struggled to wait for the order; when he heard Clint yell over the comms, "Black Widow is down! Captain, Black Widow is down!" he heard panic and fear in Clint's voice for the first time and he had to hold himself very still to keep himself from rushing in.

It was ten minutes later before Steve gave an all clear, and_ then _Bruce leapt out of the jet and started running toward the compound. He slid to a halt next to Clint and Steve, who were bent over Natasha.

"Step back," Bruce said, his voice dark. "Let me see."

Clint looked up at him and then stepped aside, and Bruce knelt down next to Natasha. She was bleeding from a shoulder wound and her breaths were shallow and labored. She was going into shock.

"Okay, Steve, you've got to get her back to the jet. She needs to get to medical fast. The bullet's still in there and she's going into shock."

Steve didn't waste a moment, he just scooped her up. Bruce tried to ignore her yells as they headed for the jet.

Steve put Natasha on a stretcher and looked at Clint and Bruce."Tony and I will stay back to do cleanup and wait for SHIELD's crew. We'll meet you back at base," his voice was ragged, and he looked at Natasha while he was talking.

Bruce nodded and Steve left the jet just as Clint was piloting it into the air, hardly waiting for Steve to jump off before closing the hatch and tearing into the sky, pushing the jet's limits. They were back at SHIELD in ten minutes, but Natasha had gone into shock and Bruce was starting to panic by the time the SHIELD medics pulled her out of the jet.

Clint followed them without a glance at Bruce, so he went, too.

He found Clint pacing the waiting room. He was still covered in dirt and muck and other people's blood from the mission, but he refused any offers to go clean up and he wouldn't talk to anyone. Bruce could feel the panic radiating from him, and after two hours of watching Clint pace, Bruce went down to the commissary and got two cups of tea and a few sandwiches. He took them back and positioned himself in Clint's path. "Stop."

Clint looked up, surprised, but followed the order. He looked into Bruce's eyes and Bruce saw his exhaustion and worry. He held up the tea and sandwiches.

"Drink, eat, sit," he said simply, and Clint looked at the tea and then at Bruce and he sighed and wiped a hand down his face.

"I –" he looked at the door to the surgery wing and then back at Bruce. "I can't eat, Bruce."

"Then at least sit down and drink this," Bruce insisted. Clint looked at the tea and then nodded.

They sat down and drank together and then Bruce said, "You should go get cleaned up. I'll keep watch for you."

"No," Clint snapped. He closed his eyes and leaned back. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Clint, but you should get cleaned up. They probably won't even let you in with her looking like that. Seriously, I'll keep watch and call you right away if they come out with news."

So Clint left and Bruce smiled when it was a mere twelve minutes before he was back, freshly showered and in clean clothes, and pacing again.

While he was gone, Bruce had caught a nurse and had her check Clint's records and approve a painkiller for his shoulder, which Bruce could tell was still bothering him. He stopped Clint's pacing again and held up the pills and some water. "Just a mild painkiller. It won't mess you up, okay?" Bruce told him.

Clint took the pills. "Thanks." At that moment, the doctor emerged from the surgery area with good news. Natasha had come through the surgery well and would be out for a month or two, but would make a full recovery. They couldn't go see her quite yet, but she was going to be okay.

It was while Clint was sitting with his head in his hands waiting to be allowed back to sit with her that Agent Sitwell appeared in front of Bruce and Clint.

"Agent Barton," he said in a clipped tone.

"Yeah?" Clint asked, raising his head just a little. It had been four hours since they'd brought Natasha in and even Bruce was weary from the wait. Clint looked about a thousand times worse than Bruce felt.

Sitwell handed Clint a file. "Now that Agent Romanov is out of the woods, you've got a mission we need you for. Wheels up in half an hour. We were waiting on news before we pulled you, hence the short notice."

Bruce felt his jaw drop and he stood, saying "Are you crazy? He just finished an Avengers mission and then sat here for four hours waiting on news and you're going to throw him into another mission?" He was livid, and Sitwell heard it and took two steps backward.

Clint was up and had his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Bruce, stop. It's okay. I have to do this," he said, looking into Bruce's eyes.

"You just had a four hour fight, piloted the jet, and paced this waiting room for four hours. Your shoulder is killing you and you _shouldn't have to go_," Bruce replied.

"But I do. So do me a favor and sit with Natasha and tell her I'm sorry for not being there. She'll roll her eyes and ignore you, but tell her anyway, okay? This'll be the first time she's come around after a fight without me or Ph- Coulson around."

And Bruce saw a flash of grief again, and then Clint straightened and stepped back, turning to Sitwell. "Let's go."

Sitwell nodded and turned to Bruce, "Tell Captain Rogers we'll have Agent Barton back in a couple of days. It should be a quick one."

Bruce watched them leave and then sat down again, and soon he was joined by Steve and Tony.

"Bruce," Steve said as he sat down next to him. "What's the news? How is she?"

Bruce sighed and looked over at Steve. "She's going to be fine. We should be allowed in to see her in a bit, but not yet. A month or so recovery time, depending, but I'll lay money on sooner if you're up for it."

Tony stood in front of Bruce in jeans and a t-shirt, looking haggard. "If they haven't let you in yet, where's Barton?"

"SHIELD sent him on another mission," he said, and waited for the explosion.

"What?" Steve said sharply. "We haven't even debriefed this one!"

"Yeah, I know, but Sitwell said they needed him, so he went. They said it would only be a couple days."

"That's fucking ridiculous," Tony said, throwing himself into a chair next to Bruce. "Have they even looked at him lately?"

"Apparently not. Sitwell said it would be a quick trip."

"We'll discuss it when he gets back," Steve said with a sigh.

They waited a while and finally got to go sit with Natasha. Clint was right about her rolling her eyes, but she was also on some pretty good drugs, so when the others left and Bruce told her he'd stay with her, she smiled at him.

"Thanks," she said, waving her hand at him. "Bring your books or journals or whatever it is you read in here, though. Coulson used to do that, haul a stack of paperwork in and power through it while I slept." And when she said it there was a fondness in her tone that Bruce hadn't heard from her before.

He thought back to the picture on Clint's end table. "You three were more than just a team of Agents, weren't you?"

She looked at Bruce thoughtfully and then nodded. "He hasn't told you anything, has he?"

Bruce shook his head. "He said you were all close, but that's all. What do you mean?"

She closed her eyes. "Clint and I are best friends, but Clint and Coulson were together. Dated for a few years. They were living together when Coulson died. That's why Clint moved to the Tower so easily. He never would have before."

And suddenly it clicked for Bruce, and grief of his own welled up in his chest as he thought of playing chess with Clint, cooking with him, seeing the sadness in his eyes as he looked at the photograph at his apartment. It all made more sense now.

"Bruce," Natasha said tiredly as she opened her eyes and looked at him, "Clint needs friends. He never had them before me and Coulson, and now Phil's gone. And I suck at friendship." The last bit was mumbled, and Bruce wanted to tell her that he didn't know anything about being friends with anyone either, but she fell asleep before he could. So he spent the next two hours just keeping watch, being proxy for Clint, because he had a feeling that's the sort of thing friends did for each other.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So here's the last section! Holiday festivities are going to get in the way if I don't go ahead and post this now, so I hope you enjoy it! It was fun to write, and I appreciate the many favorites and follows it's gotten. Reviews are like candy canes – sweet and refreshing – if you have any lying around I'd welcome them! **** Thanks again to the marvelous dysprositos. Look her up! **

For two days, Bruce, Steve, and Tony took turns sitting with Natasha as she slept and watched bad TV in SHIELD medical. Bruce managed to get her to play a game of chess on the second day, but she blamed her painkillers for losing to him and demanded a rematch later.

In the late afternoon of the third day, Bruce was sipping a mug of tea and reading a journal, waiting for the doctors to bring the medication Natasha needed to take with her upon discharge when the door to her room opened and Clint walked in.

Bruce almost dropped his papers.

Clint had obviously just come from showering and changing clothes, his hair damp and navy blue t-shirt crisp. He was shuffling, though, hardly picking up his feet as he walked, and his eyes were sunken with bruised looking skin fading into pallor. He didn't even acknowledge Bruce.

He approached Natasha's bed, and Bruce saw her frown at him.

"Clint," she said gently, "You look like shit."

He laughed and ducked his head. "Yeah, two nights on stakeout and a bumpy plane ride back. I'm okay, though."

Bruce stood to leave and Clint finally turned to him with a tired smile. "Thanks, Bruce."

"Sure," Bruce said. "How's your shoulder?"

"Better," Clint said, but his voice was flat and Bruce wasn't sure he believed him.

"They're letting Natasha out pretty soon," Bruce said, "I was going to take her back to the Tower. I can take you, too if you'd like."

Clint shrugged. "I haven't done my debrief yet. I made Sitwell wait until I saw Nat. So I have to stay awhile, but thanks."

"We can wait, Clint," Natasha said quietly.

He disentangled himself from Natasha. "You know Sitwell takes forever when it's a multi-day op. It could be a couple hours. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"You're leaving already?" She asked.

"I want to get something to eat before the debrief. Really, Nat, they wanted to start right away and I made 'em wait."

Bruce put his hand on Clint's shoulder. "Why don't I go get you something so you can stay here for a few minutes?" He looked at Natasha and she gave him a slight nod.

Clint argued, "No, I'm just going to grab a coffee and bagel and go. It's on the way. I just wanted to check on you, Nat, Jesus." He pulled his hand from hers and stepped back, turning to leave.

"We'll see you at the Tower later, right?" She called, but he just waved her off and left. She looked over at Bruce.

He rubbed a hand down his face. "How about I get you out of here and back to the Tower and then I'll come back and wait for him?" he asked.

She nodded. "Coulson made him take care of himself," she said quietly after a moment.

"What?" Bruce asked.

"Phil wouldn't let this happen. It's the handler's call whether an agent has to report to medical after a mission if there aren't any glaring injuries. A handler can require a visit against the agent's will. Coulson was constantly dragging Clint to medical because he would just ignore anything that wasn't a limb falling off."

"And Sitwell's not."

"He's under pressure and doesn't know Clint's habits as well as he should. SHIELD is short a lot of hands right now and Fury's being pulled a bunch of directions." She sighed, "Sitwell doesn't know Clint's limits like Coulson did."

"Clint doesn't know his limits, either, it seems," Bruce added.

"No, he doesn't think they're worth worrying about," Natasha corrected.

"How can Sitwell take him out so soon after an Avengers mission?" Bruce asked. "Aren't there down time rules?"

She nodded absently, then snapped back to him and replied, "Yes. But those are for SHIELD ops. Protocols aren't in place for Avengers and Clint's not standing up for himself."

"Maybe we should stand up for him," Bruce replied, and then left to go find the doctor and Natasha's paperwork.

Two hours later, he was sitting in a lounge area waiting for Clint. He had a calendar pulled up on a tablet and he'd been thinking over the last few weeks and making notes on how long Clint was out on ops and what injuries he'd incurred. Bruce wanted to show it to Steve later. Someone needed to go to bat for Clint, and Steve was the leader.

It was about six-thirty at night before people started to come filing out of the conference room, and Bruce just shook his head and stood when Clint passed him by without even noticing him.

"Agent Barton," he called, and Clint turned slowly and then looked up at the ceiling.

"Hey, Doc. Just hanging around SHIELD at night? Not your style."

Bruce grinned and held up the car keys. "Thought you could use a ride."

"You and Nat are ganging up on me, aren't you?" Clint said, waiting for Bruce to catch up.

"You could put it that way," Bruce replied. "Or you could say we're looking out for you. Take your pick."

Clint just shrugged and they headed for the parking garage. When Bruce saw Clint fumble to even get the door open, he stepped closer and put his hand on Clint's back, gently. He reached around Clint and opened the door for him. "Here."

"Sorry, thanks," Clint slumped into the seat, letting Bruce close the door behind him.

He was asleep before Bruce even got the car turned on.

Before Bruce pulled out of the SHIELD facility he texted Steve to meet him in the Tower parking garage, and he and Tony were waiting when he pulled in. Clint was leaned back in the seat and snoring lightly when Bruce climbed out of the car without waking him.

Tony peeked into the car on Clint's side. "You gonna let him sleep in his car? That seems harsh."

Bruce glared at Tony. "I didn't invite you."

"I answer Steve's texts for him. He types too slowly."

"Steve," Bruce said, ignoring Tony, "Can you carry Clint to my apartment? He's out cold."

"Wait," Tony said. "He's probably armed, and have you ever woken him from a nap before? I almost lost a finger the one time I did it."

"I heal easily," Steve said, and he opened Clint's door and gently lifted him into his arms.

"Jesus, he's wiped, isn't he?" Tony said as the three of them climbed in the elevator. Clint was draped in Steve's arms and his head was pressed against Steve's chest. He was still snoring.

Bruce nodded. They took Clint to Bruce's apartment and Steve laid him out on the couch. Bruce turned on the fountain and the music Clint liked and Tony pulled the sniper's boots off, setting them on the floor.

"Thanks, guys," Bruce said. "Hey, Steve, could you check on Natasha and tell her he's back? I don't want him waking up alone right now."

He looked at Clint and then at Tony, who was regarding him oddly. "What?" he asked.

Tony shrugged. "Call if you need anything," he replied, and then he and Steve left.

When JARVIS woke him at two in the morning calling for the Avengers to assemble, Bruce cussed more than he had since Tony set fire to his favorite tennis shoes.

Clint was sitting up groggily when he got to his living room.

"Bruce? How the hell did I get here? What – what's going on?"

JARVIS chimed in. "Agent Barton, Dr. Banner, the assemble call is an emergency requiring immediate presence at the jet."

"Clint, you shouldn't come," Bruce said as he watched Clint stand and waver. He reached out a steadying hand.

"Why not? I have to come," Clint replied, voice still thick with sleep. "I've got to get my bow,"

"Sir," Jarvis interrupted, "Mr. Stark had your bow and supplies delivered to the jet two minutes ago."

"Clint, you're in no condition to go fight!" Bruce said.

"Natasha can't come and Thor's in Asgard. I'm coming, Bruce."

Bruce knew it was a bad idea.

SHIELD had discovered a compound in the jungle of Peru, hidden on a preserve near a science research station that had been around for over fifteen years. AIM had compromised some of the villagers and persuaded them to help arm and defend the area, and now they were getting ready to test some new weapons. They needed a definitive strike, but one that took the villagers into account, which meant precision work from Clint.

He was good for it, despite his condition. Bruce hung back, listening over the comms and hearing Steve and Clint do most of the early work. They had to get the civilians out of the compound before letting Tony and Bruce in to deal with the explosive stuff, and Steve and Clint worked seamlessly together. Steve called out targets as he made his way into the compound and Clint took them out, moving from perch to perch with his graceful agility.

They picked apart the perimeter, and since the villagers were being used for grunt work, they were easy to find and gather. Clint's Spanish skills and Steve's generally reassuring demeanor helped lead them away. Bruce helped gather them and he led them back to their village safely before returning to the perimeter to see where the rest of the team was on the mission to disarm the scientists and confiscate the research.

"Bruce, we've got the building cleared. You and Tony need to address the tech now," Steve said over the comm as Bruce approached the building. Clint was leaning against the doorway, a dazed look on his sweaty face.

"Clint?" Bruce said as he approached him. He got no response.

He tapped the comm in his ear. "Tony, give me a couple minutes. Steve, can you come around to the front entrance?"

He moved closer to Clint and saw him breathing shallowly. He put his hand on the archer's arm and said, "Hey, can you talk to me?"

Clint finally dragged his gaze to Bruce and swallowed hard. "I'm tired, Bruce," he said, his voice weak and soft.

Bruce nodded. "Here, sit. Steve's coming around and I'm gonna have him take you back to the jet."

Clint leaned back against the wall, but didn't sit down. "Phil's gonna be pissed," he mumbled, and this time he didn't catch his mistake.

Bruce blanched. "He'll understand," he said, knowing that upsetting Clint right now would just make things worse. Bruce wished, not for the first time, that Phil Coulson hadn't challenged a god. "Come on, sit down." Clint nodded and finally sank to the ground. He leaned his head back against the wall. Bruce was going to leave him there for Steve, but he realized that Clint was trembling, so he reached out to take his pulse. "Fuck." It was erratic and way too fast, and Clint's eyes had lost focus again.

"Clint," he said again, putting his hand against Clint's cheek.

Steve came up behind them and knelt down. "What happened?" he asked.

"He's crashing, that's what happened. Over exertion. Sleep deprivation. Erratic heart rate and disorientation," Bruce said. "You need to get him back to the jet. Make him drink a bottle of water, slowly, and try and get him cooled down. I'll check on Tony and get back as quick as I can. Keep an eye on his pulse – if it hasn't gone back to 60-100 beats per minute by the time you get him to the jet, call for a med team. He's a high risk for a heart attack in this state. Otherwise, keep him cool and calm, and get him to drink."

Steve nodded and scooped Clint up, and Bruce hurried into the facility. He and Tony needed to work fast.

It took thirty minutes for them to download all the files they needed and for Iron Man to destroy the labs. Bruce headed back to the jet, unsure of what he'd find.

Steve was holding Clint, propped up against his chest, and Clint's eyes were glassy.

When Clint saw Bruce, he took a shaky breath.

"See, I told you he was okay. He's okay, Clint," Steve said, gently, and looked up at Bruce. "His pulse rate slowed down, but he keeps alternating between asking for you and Agent Coulson. Something's wrong."

Bruce nodded and Tony climbed over them to pilot the jet. "Tony," Bruce said, following him to the cockpit. "Can you get a doctor to meet us at the Tower? Maybe get an IV set-up in Clint's room?"

"You don't want him at SHIELD?" Tony asked.

"I don't trust them with him right now. I also want copies of his employment contracts waiting. I want Steve to go through it and figure out how to keep him with us more, and I want to start by not letting them get their hands on him at all."

Tony nodded. "Done."

Bruce went back to Steve and Clint, and Steve was getting him to drink some more water. Bruce sat down beside them. "Hey," he said to Clint.

"Bruce," Clint said weakly. "I wore myself out, huh?"

"Yeah. Yeah you did," Bruce replied. "You're going to get some rest, though."

"Can't."

"What? Why?" Steve asked. "You have to rest."

Clint shook his head. "SHIELD mission coming up. Gotta prep for it." He paused and then added, "Phil has all the paperwo-"

Clint went very still in Steve's arms, and then suddenly put his hands on his face and covered his eyes. "Dammit, Dammit." He whispered.

Bruce leaned over and ran his hand through Clint's hair. "It's okay, Clint. It's understandable."

Clint looked up at Bruce, pleading, "Why do I keep forgetting? I need to stop forgetting."

"You're suffering from physical and mental exhaustion," Bruce replied. "You need some rest."

"I can't settle. I feel wired," he protested.

"We're going to get you a sedative when we get back to the Tower. And you're going to see a doctor who isn't tied to SHIELD."

Steve held Clint a little tighter. "We're not going to let them have you any time soon, okay? You're done splitting time for a while."

Clint just shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest. "'m just tired."

After they got Clint back to the Tower, the doctor Tony found came and put Clint on an IV of fluids and took some blood work to determine what else he needed. He gave him a sedative and Clint was asleep before long. Natasha curled up in a chair near his bed, her arm in a sling and one of Tony's tablets on her lap.

Bruce met Steve and Tony at Clint's dining room table, which was strewn with papers. They were each combing through sections of it when there was a knock at the door. Bruce opened it and took a step back.

"Director Fury," he said as evenly as he could.

"Dr. Banner, you're holding one of my agents. I need him back at SHIELD immediately."

Bruce laughed. "No offense intended, sir, but no. He's staying here. He's currently sedated and we're not moving him."

"Sir," Steve called, and Bruce stepped aside so Fury could join Steve and Tony at the table.

"Captain Rogers," Fury acknowledged.

"We're going to redo Agent Barton's contract with SHIELD, sir. It needs to be adjusted."

"Adjusted?" Fury asked, raising his eyebrow.

Tony interrupted, "Director, I've sent copies of Agent Barton's employment contracts to my lawyer. He's going to make some changes and you'll need to sign them tomorrow."

"What changes? What's going on?" Fury said, looking back at Bruce.

"You don't know why we're keeping Clint here?" Bruce asked, seeing the confusion on Fury's face.

"I know you're keeping him. Sitwell requested that Mr. Stark bring Agent Barton to SHIELD medical tonight when it was found that he suffered an injury on your latest mission. Sitwell then informed me that you all were refusing to let him go. No one keeps one of my best agents out of medical when he needs it. That's what I know. Now would someone explain what else is going on?"

Bruce sighed. "We're keeping him here because every time he gets a moment free, SHIELD takes him on a mission, and his body can't handle a mission right now."

Fury was quiet for a minute. "Agent Sitwell is not permitted to take him on a mission if he's not cleared by medical."

"No one's been asking medical," Natasha said from the hallway, and everyone watched as she approached Fury. "Clint and Sitwell are making the calls on whether he's able, and you, sir, are probably aware of Agent Barton's ability to self-evaluate."

Fury sighed. "What's his status now?"

"Exhaustion at the least. Irregular heart rate and disorientation are the primary symptoms," Bruce said. "Tony's doctor pulled blood work to see if there are vitamin deficiencies or any nutrition problems. We've got him sedated for now because he's also having trouble sleeping on his own."

Fury looked around the room. "All right. He can stay here. I'll clear a spot on my schedule tomorrow, Mr. Stark, and your lawyer and ours can meet with me to work out a reasonable division of time and workload if necessary. I expect him to be able to help SHIELD out from time to time. I have no intention of losing one of my best agents."

Fury left then, and Bruce felt a shift in the mood.

"My guy will make sure Clint's with us more than them," Tony said. "Then we can teach the idiot how to say 'no' from time to time."

Bruce grinned and everyone filed out, Natasha back to Clint's room and Steve and Tony out to get some rest of their own.

Clint slept for twenty hours. When he woke Bruce was sitting in the chair near his bed, reading a book.

"Bruce," Clint said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Bruce looked up and grinned, and then leaned over to give Clint a drink. "How are you feeling?"

Clint sighed. "Tired. So goddamned tired." He paused and looked at his hand with the IV in it. "Why am I in my own room with an IV, Bruce?"

"Because none of us wanted you back at SHIELD just yet. You need to recover."

"Recover?"

"You ran yourself to the ground, Clint. Exhaustion. We're also working with SHIELD to redefine your workload."

Clint's face darkened. "I can still work for them," he protested.

"No one's saying you can't. We just need to be able to look out for you a little better."

"I can look out for myself," Clint said, clearly angry.

"Can you?" Bruce asked, softly. "Natasha said that was sort of Agent Coulson's forte."

At that Clint started to try and get up, so Bruce stood and pressed him back to the bed. "I'm sorry, Clint. I'm sorry he's gone and not here to help take care of you. And yes, you can take care of yourself, but you didn't. Whether that was guilt or work ethic or self-esteem issues doesn't matter right now. You ran yourself down and he wasn't here to stop it and we didn't catch on until it was too late."

Clint leaned back, breathing hard, and he closed his eyes and was quiet for a minute.

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed. "Tony's just having his lawyers draw clear lines about how many missions you can go on, downtime from Avengers missions, medical check-in requirements, that sort of thing. That way you can say no if you need to, okay? You should be allowed to say no if you need to."

This time when Clint opened his eyes they were glazed with unshed tears. "Okay," he said. He ducked his head and said, "Phil could see when I wasn't paying attention. I – I have a hard time saying no because before SHIELD I was never allowed to say no. I never learned how. So he said it for me, first as my handler and then as my partner. I guess—I guess I need to learn now that he's gone."

They sat together quietly for a few minutes and Bruce leaned over and picked up Clint's hand. He wasn't sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do, and it felt good. "Clint," he said. "You have friends now. Let us help you. You shut us out at the beginning, and now I know you were grieving. Then you let us in a little, but not enough. We'll help you."

Clint nodded. "I'm still really tired," he whispered.

"So sleep," Bruce responded with a smile. "When you wake up I'll get you some tea and you'll feel better."

Clint nodded, and this time a few of the tears in his eyes fell. "I miss him. I miss him so goddamned much," he said, his voice ragged.

Bruce nodded. "Let us help with that, too, okay? We'll play chess and talk about him and we'll cook and get through it. No one knew. But now we do, and we can help."

"Why?" Clint asked.

"Because that's what friends do. And it's been a long time since I've had friends, and I want to do this," Bruce replied with a smile.

"Okay," Clint said with a smile. "I'll sleep and then all us misfits'll work on being friends."

And he closed his eyes and slept again. Bruce left Natasha with him so he could go make some tea.


End file.
